


A Matter of Great Reluctance

by Allyennah



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: First Impressions, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 03:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17800190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allyennah/pseuds/Allyennah
Summary: One of Stormwind's finest is charged with asking a retired Officer for help. What he finds isn't exactly what he expected.





	A Matter of Great Reluctance

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a much bigger alternate universe, created by Akaiba. Set in the Warcraft (2016) timeline.

A soft orange glow from the late afternoon sun filtered weakly between the thick canopy of trees that so densely populated the deepest part of Elwynn forest. Blots of shining gold against the growing shadows glittered across the underbrush. Quinn stumbled as he pushed aside vines and branches, cursing the barely visible pathway beneath his feet. Sticks and leaves crunched beneath his metal graves, the armour ill-fitting and rattling slightly with every step. He clutched his orders in one gloved fist, the bright blue seal of Stormwind fluttering between his fingers - a beacon to his purpose this far into the forest.

He’d left the paved road behind upon spying a roughly hewn sign, nearly covered entirely by ivy and cleverly placed to be out of the way and unseen unless you knew what you were looking for. Quinn had never been this far into the forest, but his instructions from his commanding officer had been clear enough that he’d only ridden by the sign twice before finding it. He’d left his horse tied to the wooden structure with some food and water, opting to go on foot down the neglected pathway to his destination.

With a great heave he pushed low hanging branches out of the way, lifting them up just high enough for him to duck under and avoid a slap in the face. It was only as he was emerging on the other side of the underbrush that he saw the dark stones and ebony wood doorway of his destination.

The house he’d been told to look for was more of a cottage, dark almost black wooden entrance with two windows on either side. A set of smaller windows on the second story were shuttered and dark, thick green ivy climbing along the edges of the wooden panels, up the front of the house and grasping at the window sills. The brick chimney along the far side was smoking and the smell of stew wafted towards him on the wind. Quinn’s stomach grumbled and he regretted having eaten only dry rations for his lunch.

At the very least he should be able to be on his way shortly as it appeared the man he sought was home.

With renewed energy, Quinn pulled back his shoulders and strode towards his destination with purpose. The crunching sticks beneath his feet serving to boost his confidence. He approached the door and rapped on the wood.

“Open up, by order of Stormwind!”

One second passed, then two, three, four... too many. Quinn stared at the unyielding wood incredulously, was he being ignored? No, perhaps the occupant of the house was merely too far away to hear his greeting.

So he tried again, this time banging with the meat of his fist, “By order of the Stormwind, open this door!”

From within, he heard the distinctive sound of someone moving about the house. Was this man deaf? Or was Quinn truly being ignored? One more time he would try the polite way before he would be within his rights, and his orders, to enter the house uninvited.

“Lieutenant Anderson, Stormwind guard commands you open this door!”

The locks clicked, old hinges creaked, and the door opened just a sliver. It offered barely enough light to see into the shadows beyond, hardly enough to illuminate the burly figure within. Quinn could catch only a glimpse of the dappled sunlight in cold, hazel eyes.

“Fuck off.”

And the door was slammed shut.

Quinn blinked rapidly in shock, unused to doors being unceremoniously shut in his face. He stood, hand still raised to knock, as he searched for an appropriate response to such unanticipated rudeness. He hadn’t been expecting this, of all things, to be an assignment that took up the better part of his day.

“Uh... um Sir? Sir!” Knocking rapidly on the door again, Quinn attempted to recover his composure, “Stormwind is in need of your assistance!”

“I said, fuck off.” The door remained shut, the gruff response sharply delivered through the solid wood.

The locks slid shut once again and Quinn could hear the Lieutenant walking away from the door, evidently finished with their conversation.

“But-but Sir!”

No response.

Quinn huffed and took a step back from the threshold. His orders had been clear, deliver the message and return with the Lieutenant. Now he knew why the older officers had just laughed at him and the other recruits had looked on in a mixture of pity and confusion when he’d been handed the assignment. This was clearly a test, it had to be.

With that resolve he pushed his shoulders back and once again rapped on the door. “Sir, I’m not going anywhere until my job is done. You can’t stay in there all day and I’ll be here when you leave!”

As expected, there was no response.

So Quinn waited.

He waited standing at attention. He waited leaning against the door frame. He even waited sitting with his back against the door, periodically banging his head against the solid wood and reminding his charge that he had not abandoned his post.

The evening dragged on and soon the shadows of the forest grew long and dark. Quinn was sitting against the door frame, feet sprawled across the stairs. He’d shed his armour when it had got to warm and welcomed the cool evening with what little good spirits he had left.

Inside the house he could hear the faint sounds of dinner being made and his stomach loudly protested. He’d only packed enough rations for an afternoon, not expecting to be camped outside a nasty hermit’s hut for hours on end. With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to what could be a very long night. As the darkness in the forest settled around him, he felt himself growing tired and as the woods grew silent Quinn unwittingly dozed off.

He was awoken by the sound of wood clunking and locks turning several hours later. Unsure of when he’d fallen asleep Quinn scrambled to his feet in the darkness, tripping over boots that were just a bit too big and stumbling gracelessly down the two steps leading to the front door. He squinted through the inky black, reaching out with cautious hands as he righted himself. He was certain that his charge had heard him stumbling around but took several moments for Quinn to realise that instead of coming out to investigate, Lieutenant Anderson had been returning home and had quite literally _walked right over him_.

Frustration burned the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes, easily brought on by the cramping emptiness of his stomach. He glared in the direction of the house, barely visible in the dark and kicked at the stairs. Who was this asshole who thought he was better than the city guard?

Fueled by anger, Quinn marched back to the door. He was not about to be jerked around by some retired officer.

“Hey!” He yelled as he hammered on the wood with his fist, “Open the door! At least let me do my job, we both know neither of us wants me here!”

Still no answer, although Quinn could’ve sworn he heard rustling.

“Come on!”

The rustling grew louder and for a moment Quinn thought the old man was coming to answer the door. It was only as the wind changed that he caught the sound of rough, ragged breathing coming from behind him and not the house like he had expected. Quinn froze, hand placed on the door as he turned ever so slowly to face the forest. Through the trees and underbrush he caught sight of two yellow eyes and snarling teeth.

“Shit.” He muttered.

In the darkness he could barely make out where the animal ended and where the forest began. A huge beast made of shadows, stalking closer and closer as the yellow glow from its eyes grew brighter. Quinn’s hand flattened on the door, his knees shook as he stepped backwards until he was flat against the solid wood. The beast was close enough now that he could hear the snarling growl, low and menacing, coming from the heavy chest of the animal.

In a last ditch attempt at survival, Quinn fumbled with the heavy metal door handle. Jiggling the lock with shaking fingers and finding it as cold and unyielding as ice. The old hermit was going to leave him out here to die, or perhaps he had been stranded as a sacrifice? How was Quinn to know that this beast wasn’t the old man transformed? Those yellow eyes tracked every movement he made, no matter how slight, with a calculated intelligence that was greater than any animal Quinn had ever met. The beast hunkered down, eyes widening as it sniffed at the air. Alert. Hungry. It growled, the sound reverberating in Quinn’s chest as his heart leaped into his throat. He clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see as the beast maimed him. He heard the animal stamping the ground, getting ready to lunge. Flattened against the door, Quinn hoped the old man would at least send something home to so that his poor mother would know her darling boy was dead. A stick cracked and Quinn flinched, hearing now a second animal running towards him. 

A yelp and a growl followed.

Quinn opened one eye as the sounds of the two animals fighting grew louder. A grey blur, barely visible in the darkness, slammed into the beast. Fierce yellow eyes turned their attention from it’s evening meal and to the smaller animal. A howl pierced the night, chilling Quinn to the bone. He’d been a city boy his whole life, had never come across a feral wolf before and had only heard stories of how they would maim and tear their prey. The animals barreled into one another again, grappling with razor sharp teeth that flashed brilliant white in the darkness. Quinn felt light headed, his stomach churning and feeling as if the ground was being pulled out from underneath him.

Belatedly he realised that swooping feeling was the door behind him being hauled open. He stumbled back a step as his support was removed.

“Get out of the way.” The order was growled in his ear as a strong hand gripped his shoulder and hauled him out of the threshold.

Quinn stumbled over his own feet and toppled to the ground as Lieutenant Anderson pushed passed. Wrists and arse smarting from the impact with the floor, Quinn rolled onto his side to try and alleviate the discomfort. He cowered there in shock for a moment before forcing himself to sit up, gingerly as he was sure his tailbone was bruised. The loud thwack of an arrow being loosed caused him to jump, he hadn’t anticipated that. His superiors had told him the Lieutenant was a warrior of some talent and he’d been expecting a gruff old man with a sword.

The reality was somewhat disorienting.

Standing at the threshold, bathed in the orange light from the fire, the Lieutenant stood squarely with a large mahogany bow held in a sure grasp. He exuded calm and practiced ease with the weapon and Quinn wondered at the strength of the grip that had pulled him off his feet. The hand that had grabbed him had been as strong and unyielding as the lock on the door, not at all the hands of the old man Quinn had been picturing. That was made clear when he finally looked at the man’s face; although cast partially in shadow, it was clear that the neatly trimmed beard and dark brown hair showed no traces of grey. The supposed wrinkles around his eyes and brow were only the result of the furious scowl he expressed, but it was clear that Quinn had misjudged his assignment.

Outside the wolf howled and the sound of dogs fighting ceased. Lieutenant Anderson lowered his bow and cast a disapproving glare into the forest.

“Wolf, come!” He ordered with a sharp whistle.

Quinn jumped at the order, jolting up onto his feet and looking skeptically at the door. He hoped that he hadn’t stumbled out of danger and directly into something much more terrifying.

Through the door came what appeared to be a large dog, white and grey mottled fur stained red in splotches and around the muzzle. Wolf trotted through the threshold and Lieutenant Anderson closed the door behind, latching the complex lock as he did so. Quinn’s eyes never left the animal, watching skeptically as it meandered around the entry way and waiting for the bloodstained maw to turn against him.

“You’re tracking blood all over the place.” Quinn’s ears perked and he looked down, hands running across his torso and eyes looking down his legs. Had he been bitten after all? “Not _you_.” Quinn looked up to meet the disapproving glare of his charge, and after a few moments of judgmental silence the older man turned away to attend to his animal, “I’m talking to you, you know the rule about blood in the house.”

Oh _lovely_ , there was a rule about that. Quinn watched apprehensively as the wolf stopped trotting towards the brick fireplace against the far wall and turned to look at her master. The Lieutenant merely raised an eyebrow and the animal huffed before complying. She lead the way into the small kitchen, bloody paw prints tracked in her wake. She seated herself in a way that Quinn would almost describe as dainty and waited rather impatiently, tail flicking back and forth sharply, as a cloth was run under hot water.

“Clean up the entryway.” For a moment Quinn thought the Lieutenant was speaking to the animal and was surprised when a heavy, wet cloth landed squarely on his head, warm water soaking his hair and dripping onto his shoulders.

He fumbled the cloth in his hands and got to work without question, wiping up the bloody paw prints as he’d been ordered to. It was easy work compared to mucking out the Stormwind stables and yet by the time Quinn finished, the Lieutenant and his pet were both lounging at the dining table. Both appeared extremely relaxed, the Lieutenant with his feet up on the table and leaning back in his chair almost carelessly with the wolf curled comfortably at the base.

Cautiously, Quinn pushed himself to his feet and went to rinse the cloth out in the sink, all the while aware of the owner of the house watching him from under the guise of closed eyes. As the warm water rushed over his hands Quinn started to think of a plan; he was in the house and had the man’s attention, the next step was just to deliver his letter and convince the Lieutenant to return to Stormwind with him. He placed the now clean cloth over the faucet to dry and turned to rest against the counter.

“Are you going to let me do my job now?” He asked, trying to appear put out by the entire experience.

Lieutenant Anderson opened one eye and then the other, slowly scrutinizing the recruit and for the first time Quinn got a good look at the man’s face. Free of wrinkles or stress lines around hazel eyes that were far younger than Quinn had expected. The beard, he realised, was likely to hide the fact that the Lieutenant was only a few years older than Quinn himself. It was a few moments before he realised that he hadn’t been told to ‘fuck off’ and Quinn took the opportunity to retrieve the letter.

“Stormwind needs your help, Sir. These are an official summons to report for duty.” Quinn recited the phrase exactly as he’d been told as he crossed over to the Lieutenant and held out the parchment.

The blue seal stood out between them like a beacon, a call to action, and Lieutenant Anderson eyed it with disdain before taking it from Quinn. He ripped through the seal with little care for the Royal sigil and read through the summons once, twice and on the third time he tossed it onto the table.

The chair made a definite thud as it settled back on the floor and the wolf lifted her head to watch the proceedings.

“I’m retired.” Was the only explanation that the Lieutenant gave as he stared Quinn down, daring him to argue.

Quinn gulped, clearly this wasn’t going to be any easier without the door between them. “Sir please, my commanding officer says you’re the only one who can solve our problem.”

That earned a great eye roll, “Your commanding officer?”

“Y-yes Sir,” Quinn’s stomach clenched as he came to the realisation that the officer who sent him may not be in the Lieutenant’s good books.

“And that was... ?” Clearly Quinn wasn’t making a good impression.

“Not the point.” He muttered, “Does it really matter who sent me? We need your help, shouldn’t that be enough?”

It seemed that Quinn’s genuine plea was enough to bring a thoughtful look to the Lieutenant’s face. He pondered for a moment, taking some time to actually look at Quinn. Sizing him up as it were and after a few long moments he sighed, “What did your superiors tell you before giving you this assignment?”

“Uh...” It wasn’t necessarily that Quinn didn’t remember, and more that he was afraid saying the wrong thing would get him kicked back out the front door. “They said I was to deliver the summons and to bring you back with me.”

The Lieutenant leant back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest as he observed Quinn. After a moment of scrutiny, he kicked the chair across from him out, an invitation. Quinn shuffled into his chair, gangly arms and legs he hadn’t fully grown into folded awkwardly in the small space. All the while, being watched by the Lieutenant’s calculating gaze.

“How old are you?” He asked when Quinn had found a comfortable position.

“Seventeen, Sir.” He wasn’t exactly sure why this was important information.

“And when did you voluntarily enroll in the city guard?”

Quinn shifted nervously, he’d felt less like he was being interrogated during his interview for the job, “Last year, Sir.”

“Have you ever seen active duty?” There was something about the way the question was asked that had Quinn on edge, like it was leading up to a discussion he didn’t really want to have.

“No Sir, the training program is a year now and they don’t send us to any of the conflicts until we’re ready.”

The Lieutenant hummed thoughtfully. He righted his posture, sitting up in his chair instead of lounging and fixed Quinn with a serious stare, something that clearly said to pay attention to his next words. “When I was eighteen I lead a unit in the assault on Blackrock Spire. My rank as Lieutenant came six months earlier, a field promotion after our commanding officer and most of our company was wiped out in an ambush.” He paused, likely for effect, and watched the colour drain from Quinn’s face.

“When I was _conscripted_ at fifteen we were refugees living in a makeshift village outside Lordaeron. We had nowhere to go for jobs or money and had to rely on the Regent Lord’s promise that we would return home to Stormwind someday soon.” Quinn shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Lieutenant Anderson’s gaze directly. That, however, wasn’t enough to end the cautionary tale. “We were trained on the battlefield and you learnt quickly that you had to do whatever you could to survive. Too many good soldiers died in those wars and your decision was respected, whether you chose to stay or leave the army when it was over. Whoever sent you here never saw active duty, otherwise they would have respected my retirement.”

Quinn slumped back in his chair, eyes wide and he tried to process what he was being told. The man across from him was only a few years older than he was and already so scarred by the wars fought for independence. Quinn had been too young at the time of the Second War and his apprenticeship as a blacksmith had kept him from the draft for the third. He’d never seen battle and had never watched a friend die, his overall experience with the Guard had been tame by comparison.

This was the opposite of the stories he had heard when the soldiers had come recruiting. They’d spoken tales of heroics, of a great service to the crown and an unfailing loyalty to the cause. Not the bitter truths of a young man forced into service to escape poverty, someone who watched friends and fellow soldiers slaughtered only to somehow survive himself.

Lieutenant Anderson picked up the summons and read it over again, “So why is the Guard asking for my help?”

“Uh...” Quinn hadn’t been expecting that question of all things, “There’s been an insurgence of Orcs in Northshire and the wolf population seems to be rabid.”

As if on cue Wolf growled from her position at the base of her master’s chair and Lieutenant Anderson patted her head, “I’ve noticed the wolves strange behaviour.” He sighed and turned to address the animal at his feet, “You want to go fix this?”

The dog yipped and sprang to her feet, clearly making the decision for the both of them.

“I’ll help with the wolves," Lieutenant Anderson agreed, fixing Quinn with a cold stare that told him these terms were non-negotiable, "The Guard is on their own with the Orcs.”  


End file.
